Sunday, May 13, 2012

PLD Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The sun shining through the curtains woke her up way too
early the next morning. She squinted, making a mental note to get some thicker
curtains and turned over sleepily to glance at the clock on her nightstand,
wondering if it was really as early as it felt.

But what greeted her, instead of the time, was Clay Whitlow.

Keeley shot up, sitting straight in her bed and ran a hand
through her hair, now wide awake.
Actually, not too bad a way to wake up, she conceded after a little of the
shock wore off. Then she laughed at the fact that she’d actually been startled.
She’d honestly thought it would have been impossible to forget the previous
night.

She slid slowly out of bed so as not to wake her still
sleeping companion and walked around the wheelchair to the bathroom connected
to her room.She splashed some water on her face and brushed her teeth quickly.
Then, she leaned against the doorframe watching Clay.

He was sleeping on his back, one arm across his stomach and
another tucked under the pillow his head was on. She noticed his left foot
twitched slightly underneath the covers. He looked so peaceful and even in
sleep he had a slight smile, one that matched the way she felt inside.

Keeley meandered into the kitchen to put on some coffee and
find something to munch on for breakfast, still not believing that there was a
man in her bed. Maybe I should’ve started getting those papers out of the front
seat a long time ago, she thought wryly.

But then another thought came to her: Whoa. They were moving
fast.

She shrugged that one off though, deciding she didn’t care.
Especially after last night.

She heard something and looked up to see Clay wheeling from
her bedroom into the kitchen, grinning sexily, hair mussed and shirtless. She
hadn’t been wrong about him having an excellent upper body. But nobody
should wake up looking that good, she thought a little begrudgingly as she
pulled her own limp hair into a ponytail and hoped that her day old mascara
didn’t have her looking like a raccoon.

“Good morning,” he said, wheeling around her and grabbing
one of the two coffee cups off the counter.

“Make yourself at home,” she replied with a grin. Clay set
the coffee cup back on the counter and spun around quickly, knocking her knees
out from under her and catching her quickly in his lap. “Oh!”

“Make
yourself at home,” he said with an
easy, flirtatious smile. Clay seemed to be one of those people who was always
happy and in a good mood, but it seemed that the morning after brought out an
especially jovial side of him.

Keeley
playfully slapped his bare chest as she hopped off his lap. Out of the corner
of her eye she noticed he grabbed the push rims of his wheels, pushed up and
suspended in the air for a few moments, then dropped back to the seat of the
wheelchair. Hmn, hope he’s not doing that
because I was sitting on his lap or something, she worried briefly.

But
she ignored the urge to ask what he was doing, instead walking over to her
fridge. She opened the door, exposing the sparse contents. “Breakfast?” she
asked waving her arms in a grandiose gesture.

Clay
wheeled over to where she was standing and peered around her, a wry grin on his
face. “We going to have lettuce and turkey on toast?”

“Hey,
there are some canned biscuits in there too!” she replied indignantly,
rummaging around in the back of the fridge.

“I
wasn’t complaining about the lettuce and turkey,” Clay said laughing and trying
to make amends. Keeley sort of huffed, trying to appear to be mad but really
failing. She was finding it increasingly hard to be anything but impressed and
smitten by Clay Whitlow—especially after last night.

As
she threw the biscuits on a pan, she noticed Clay looking around the kitchen,
taking in the Andy Warhol she had on the wall and the coffee cups strewn
everywhere. “So,” he asked. “This is the lair of Keeley Burns?”

“Yah.
It is indeed,” she said a little sheepishly. “Impressed at my housekeeping skills?”

Clay
threw his head back in laughter as an answer. Then he spun around and meandered
into the rest of the house. Keeley liked how he was making himself at home, not
making her feel like she had to entertain him. Even after years together,
before they’d been married, she’d always felt as if Brent needed to be
entertained, which was not her forte.

She
put some coffee on as the biscuits baked.
Hope he likes coffee, she thought. Because
that’s a deal breaker if he doesn’t, she thought with a laugh. Keeley was
still chuckling to herself a few minutes later when Clay came back. “Done
exploring Mr. Whitlow?”

“Aye,
I am. Think I’ve learned everything I need to know.”

“Oh
really?” She asked, trying to raise an eyebrow and look nonchalant.

He
grinned and nodded. “You like pastels, I could tell from some of the staples in
the floor that you used to have carpet,” he ticked them off one at a time on
his fingers. “You have a beautiful piano in the corner of your living room so I
bet you can play,” she shook her head and blushed. He grinned knowingly and
then continued. “And you seem to like art. Landscapes, abstract, all kinds.
That painting of a lighthouse in your living room, I think might be my
favorite. But I didn’t see an artist’s signature.”

Keeley
laughed. “Oh no. She illustrates children’s books. She paints like that for
fun. Says it’s ‘relaxing’. Dad says that’s just an excuse to feed her addiction
to oil and canvas. Painting in both of our opinions is anything but relaxing,”
she finished and shook her head as if remembering a particular incident.
“Anyways, she say’s since she’s not selling the things, she sees no reason to
mar the work with a signature.”

Clay
chuckled. “So your mom’s the artistic one then?”

She
shook her head with a wry smile. “Nope, she’s just one-half of the dynamic
artisan Burns’ family sensation. My Dad’s a musician, a strings expert. Plays
piano for ASO, going on, oh, thirty years now?” She paused and opened a drawer,
procuring a notepad and pen. She quickly scribbled something down and held it
up for Clay to see. Ruefully she asked, “But did I inherit any of those
artistic genes?”

He
bit his lip, smiling slightly but completely unsure of what to say about the
pathetic looking stick figure in front of him. Luckily he was saved from
answering by a burnt smell that suddenly permeated the kitchen. “Keeley, what’s
that—”

“The
biscuits!” she exclaimed and ran over to the stove which was smoking. She
coughed and grabbed the pan out, just about choking on the smoke. Clay had his
arm across his face to shield the smell from his nose. She scrapped the
biscuits which were far beyond golden brown on to a plate and looked at them
forlornly. “Shit.”

She
wracked her brain, thinking of something else they could eat for breakfast and
was still looking down at the biscuits when Clay wheeled over to her and
grabbed her hand. He smiled as he craned his neck to look at the burnt
biscuits. “Guess you didn’t inherit any baking genes either huh?”

Keeley
huffed indignantly and grabbed the nearest pot holder, the smokiest one, and
threw it towards him. “It’s not my fault I’m not June Cleaver!”

Clay
laughed heartily and caught the towel. He tugged her back down onto her lap. That’s what you get for trying to impress
him with skills that are nonexistent in the first place, she thought, still
mortified at her disastrous attempt at baking. Clay smiled brightly as he
nudged her with his elbow. “And that’s quite alright. Because the ladies at
Queen Street Grocery make biscuits and gravy that’ll melt in your mouth,” he
paused and glanced at the clock on the stove. “And, I do believe they just
happen to be open at 9:30 on Sunday mornings.”

“It’s
just as grown up as not telling me about Saturday night just because I couldn’t
talk to you on Sunday!” Jan shot back.

Keeley
chuckled and received a glare from Jan. She was having a lot of fun with this
teasing thing; she wasn’t really mad, it’d be impossible for her to get mad at
Jan, who’d been in Columbia all week for a psychology conference. When she’d
tried calling her friend the next day to tell her of the previous night’s
escapades she’d received an automated voicemail informing her she was out of
town for a conference all week and would return personal calls later. She
hadn’t even been available to skype. So, now Keeley was having fun.

“Jan,
it’s just, after ten years of being friends, a wedding, a divorce, lots and
lots of hangovers, too many years of being roommates, and two premature
funerals in which we comforted each other, you make me wait a week, before I
can tell you about the first sex I’ve had in over a year!”

Jan
frowned. “Well believe me babes, I’d have much rather been listening to you
tell me about that than listen to a bunch of blundering old Ph.D.’s talk about
the latest studies of binge eating in men!”

Finally,
she could hold it in no longer; she burst out laughing. “Jan,” she said,
reaching over and patting her hand. “Oh Jan.”

This
time it was Jan’s turn to laugh as she realized she’d been had. She tossed her
balled up Chick-fil-a napkin in Keeley’s direction and rolled her eyes and
grinned wickedly. “Well, somebody must have had good sex if they’re in this
joking of a mood.”

Keeley
blushed, memories from the night flooding back to her. She nodded.

Jan
continued. “It’s about time too. It’s been long enough that you’re practically
a virgin again.”

“Jan!”

Jan
laughed, waving her hand indicating Keeley should go on and tell her all about
it. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m quite proud of you, five years ago
you never would have done this sort of thing. And I know he was happy. He
looked about ready to jump you the entire time at the carnival and the bar. And
you him.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “That is, assuming he can
jump.” She added.

Keeley
rolled her eyes. “After Saturday night, I don’t much care whether he can jump
or not.”

Jan
raised her eyebrows in question. Keeley lowered her voice to a whisper and
leaned across the table so her best friend could hear. “Because let me tell
you, I have never felt as good as I did after he was done doing whatever he did
down there. Jan. He blew Brent out of the water.”

Her
friend gave a low whistle. “Damn girl. You snagged a looker and a guy who on
the first date went there instead of immediately demanding regular old sex,”
she threw her French fry down dejectedly. “Some people just get all the luck.”

Keeley
chuckled, blushing again. She thought she was pretty lucky too. Brent had never
wanted to give her oral; she’d have to practically beg for it and even then he
was less than enthusiastic.

But
Clay—Clay was different. In so many ways, she thought as she let her mind wander back to the previous Saturday night. She’d awkwardly invited him in, the
words coming out of her mouth not nearly as smooth as she’d intended. But,
being the gentleman he was, Clay had simply ignored her blundering and
stumbling words and leaned across the seat, planting a kiss squarely on her
lips. She remembered being surprised at how warm his lips were, especially
since she was freezing from having been caught in the rain. His lips were
softer than she’d imagined, contrasting oddly to his rough-outdoorsy looks.

She
had pulled away first, ignoring the shockwaves of pleasure traveling up and
down her body and tried to say something witty about taking that as a yes. He
had laughed it off and she watched him transfer quickly out of the car, feeling
herself surprisingly turned on by every move he made.

Finally
they’d made it inside, into the bedroom. And then the old Keeley had come
running back in—the self-doubting, unsure girl that she’d been the entire time
she’d been married to Brent. She’d hesitated, not knowing what to do or where
to go once they’d entered her room, wondering if she’d made a mistake by
inviting him in.

She
glanced at Clay and noticed that at her hesitation his playful and sexy
expression had turned guarded. And she thought about the wonderful week she’d
had; it took her only a moment to make up her mind.

Keeley
leaned down and kissed him, hoping he’d realize that was her apology for
hesitating. His expression turned back to the one he normally wore and he
grinned as he kissed her in return, causing her body to pulse in every spot
that he placed a kiss. It had awoken something deep inside of her that she’d
tried to bury; she had felt a longing and hunger for more. As her body had continued
to respond to the barrage of kisses just as it had the first, she remembered wondering how on earth a guy that could evoke
these emotions could be single. She supposed the wheelchair might have
something to do with it but shit, at this point, the whole wheelchair thing was
the farthest thing from her mind. Because, honestly, wheelchair or not, she’d
never felt so turned on in her entire life, not even by her ex-husband.

Clay
had started by gently kissing and licking the insides of her thighs. Then he’d
slowly made his way to her clit, barely moving his tongue but sending waves of
pleasure through her body nonetheless. She blushed just remembering how her
body had quivered in pleasure as he bombarded her senses for several minutes,
utilizing mouth, tongue, and hands; caressing her and touching her in places
she’d forgotten what it was like to be touched in.

She
had finally screamed in release, shaking from the pleasure and slightly
embarrassed at her antics. Keeley had smiled sheepishly, blushing and feeling
hot all over as he re-emerged from the end of the bed, grinning crookedly.

Keeley
distinctly remembered thinking, Now, that
is a man who knows what he’s doing, as she watched him transfer quickly
onto the bed. He placed two hands on the bed and propelled himself and twisted
around expertly onto it, legs getting a little tangled in the process. Clay
sort of grabbed them and tossed them, effectively straightening them out. Then
he had looked to Keeley, wrinkling his
nose. “Not exactly sexy, huh?”

She’d
smiled and shrugged in response, rolling over on top of him. She ran her hands
over his chest—hairy, not in a lumber-jack way, but just enough to be masculine
and sexy—and had let one finger follow the line from his chest to his navel.
Everywhere she touched, she laid a light kiss.

Keeley
had paused for the briefest of moments when she passed an area a few
centimeters above his navel where she could literally feel and see the muscles
disappearing; his chest taut with muscles, his waist tapering off with wasted
muscles that disappeared into his pants. She a made a move towards the button,
but then in one swift move, all of a sudden she was on her back getting lost in
the deep green eyes above her. “Not so fast,” he had said with a crooked grin
and shook a finger at her.

“But
we’re on the hot tamale train tonight—fast is the only speed!” She had replied,
wondering how long his arms would support him like that. Good God Keeley, you could’ve
said anything, and that’s what you came up with?

Clay
had laughed, still propped up on his arms and above her. He dipped his head and
gave a quick kiss. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy the questions running
through her mind. She moved back above the belt and stretched her neck to reach
his collarbone, planting a light kiss there, smiling when he fell back against
the bed and gave a soft moan in pleasure. She had discovered that apparently,
Clay’s upper body was sensitive, making up for what she assumed his lower body
lacked. Keeley had gone for his nipples next and smiled in content success when
she felt his body quiver underneath her and heard him moan loudly.

Afterwards,
she had fallen back onto the bed and curled up next to him and he wrapped his
arms around her. She had drifted off quickly, not even noticing that he had gotten up and taken his jeans off, and awoke the next morning to his
face instead of her clock.

Keeley sighed, not wanting the memory of that night to
be over, and tried to decide on what she could tell Jan in the middle of a
Chick-fil-a filled with children under the age of five. Finally she opted for
something that was sure to make her best friend of ten years laugh. “Jan,” she
said laughing. “You’ll never believe what I told him though.”

“What?” Jan asked, her eyes growing wide.

“I told him that we were on “the hot tamale train” and
that the only speed was fast,” she said.

Jan reached across and slapped her in the back of the
head. “Oh my God! You did not quote Mary Murphy!”

Keeley nodded in shame as. “He said we were moving
fast and that was my answer.”

“Oh babes,” was all Jan had to say as they both
snickered at Keeley’s awful bedroom talk.

17 comments:

YOW. What is it with the updates tonight? Just a couple paragraphs in, and suddenly I'm fanning myself just knowing they're waking up together. I was worried you weren't going to fill us in, but we got lucky there :)

Ha! Well, you may get to see something hot sooner rather than later, since all of the action from last night has encouraged me to move up the timetable :) I'll have to work pretty hard to get it in in time, though!

Welcome!

This blog contains erotic and romantic stories featuring disabled male love interests. If you would like to contribute a story or would like to be a regular contributor, email me at paradevo(at)yahoo.com.